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Fuck It

I’m tired of the debate about books vs. e-readers. I’m tired of the debate about self-publishing. I couldn’t care less if some fancy Brit despairs of savage Americans ever understanding the beauty of words. Today, I couldn’t fucking care less whether poetry is relevant. Ivory towers bore me. Use APA, or MLA, or don’t, I don’t fucking care.

What do I still care about? Last week I made someone’s day by telling her that the desire to rework and edit was what made her a real writer. Then I read her work, and it is rough, but really good. And she’s going to pay me to make it better.

Climate change. We are so fucking screwed. Our inability to deal with shit is astounding. Our national debates are run by image and lies. We’re fiddling while New York drowns. And yet I am going to get into a car today.

We are head-in-the-sand kind of folks. I promise you this East Coast cleanup will go on and on and people will still, yes still, hang on to their bullshit fucking beliefs.

I wanted to smash some teeth —- and this is unusual for me —- but I spent an hour with a psychic this week, having my cards read the like, and even though I don’t totally by into that (or really, anything) it was so much fun it made my week. That woman hit some crazy targets!